The Bloody Streets of Stockholm
by Element Wolf
Summary: Sweden didn't have to simply just run away from Denmark's "house" to escape the Kalmar Union with Finland; he had to fight for his freedom. A different take on the day that Sweden decided to leave Denmark. Hist. events mentioned, a character experiment.


**The Bloody Streets of Stockholm**

_"It was surprising that he wasn't wearing his coat on one of the chilliest days of the year; literally **and** metaphorically speaking."_

The streets were deserted. So much so that Sweden could hear his own footsteps echo off of the dingy walls of nearby buildings. It was a cold and nippy day, with winter having already have arrived in Stockholm, but Sweden knew that the weather wasn't the reason why many of Stockholm's residents weren't leaving their homes. His people were tough, especially against the cold - they would go out in a blizzard for market day if they had to. No, the reason that the people of Stockholm weren't out was much, much worse than chilly weather.

The deserted streets were fitting, though, for the event that had just taken place. An atrocity for sure, and Sweden wouldn't soon forget it. Nor would he soon forgive.

Sweden finally made it to his destination - the town square. The town square was abandoned as well, save for one person. Denmark. The person who had caused all of this trouble. He couldn't help but feel even more angry as he scanned the square and took in its appearance. Bloodstained. Bleak. Abandoned. Almost as if Hell had sucked it inside its clutches, then spat it back out. Sweden's blood boiled, something it didn't do very often; he normally kept himself calm, but _this_ was _most certainly_ an exception.

Sweden straightened himself out and began to walk towards the Dane, purpose and anger powering his meaningful strides. Just as Sweden reached the other young man, Denmark turned around, wholly unprepared for what was about to happen next.

The Swede had brought his sword out, and was now bringing it down upon Denmark's head. The Dane's eyes widened when he turned around and caught a glimpse of the weapon. He just barely managed to dodge it, stumbling over his own two feet to get out of the blade's path. As he staggered to one side to avoid the weapon, Denmark's Danish battle axe fell to the ground with a clatter that echoed off of the walls of the silent street. The Dane clumsily tried to regain his balance, but Sweden tried to strike him again, and this time, the Swede's sword just barely grazed his shoulder. Denmark grunted and staggered even farther out of the way, fumbling for his axe, which he was eventually able to grab. When Sweden swung again, Denmark was able to block him, though his block was weak and he was forced to take even more steps backwards to avoid the Swede's next couple of moves.

Sweden finally stopped his attack, but only to catch his breath. He breathed heavily, in and then out, in and then out, in and then out . . . all the while still glaring at the young Danish man in front of him.

"What the hell was that for?" Denmark shouted, his normally dancing blue eyes now flashing with rage.

"Oh, you know what it was for," Sweden muttered, his glare not easing up in the slightest. Denmark's hand tightened around the shaft of his battle axe, and he glared right back at the Swede. Finally, Denmark glanced around the square, and his eyes softened a bit; but when he looked back at Sweden, they instantly turned fiery again.

"You mean this?" The Dane sneered. "They deserved it. The lot of them, they deserved it. Holding my bishop hostage for -"

"So the life of _one_ of your bishops is more valuable than the lives of over _eighty_ of my citizens?" Sweden asked coldly. His voice was calm and level, though there was an undertone of anger and steel beneath it, as if he could barely control it, but did only as to keep his image.

Denmark didn't reply, and Sweden took that as an opportunity to attack him again. The taller blond swung his sword out and managed to scrape it along the cloth of Denmark's shirt. He had to note, though, that it was strange that the Dane wasn't wearing his usual long black coat. Or any kind of cover up, for that matter. All he normally did in Sweden was gripe and whine about all of the snow and cold weather. It was surprising that he wasn't wearing his coat on one of the chilliest days of the year; literally _and_ metaphorically speaking.

The Dane growled and retaliated Sweden's attack with an attack of his own, but it didn't have the same vigor as his attacks normally would have. Sweden would have known, since they had gotten into fights before, though he had never felt more anger than now.

Sweden blocked Denmark's attack easily with his sword. His sword may have been smaller than the other Nordic's axe, but it was just as strong. He could feel the power in it; or maybe that was just his own power, his own rage. Maybe he was the strength to his weapon, and not the other way around.

Sweden swung at Denmark's stomach again, and the Dane gasped when he felt something rip through his shirt and go deeper. Sweden's sword made a nearly perfectly straight incision on Denmark's gut, and went quite deep, causing blood to start coursing out of the wound immediately. Denmark gritted his teeth and lunged at the Swede again, but his attacks were still weak compared to Sweden's. The Dane managed to get a small cut on one of Sweden's cheeks, as well as his left arm, but Sweden reciprocated with a quick stab of his own; the young Swedish man drove his sword into Denmark's right shoulder, his expression not changing at the scream that Denmark let out, nor at the blood that covered his sword when he slid it out of Denmark's shoulder.

Denmark's axe rattled to the ground, and Sweden swept forward, putting the tip of his sword's blade under the Dane's chin. Denmark stared down the shaft of the sword and gulped, trying not to make it too apparent, but it was to the Swede and it made him smirk. The Dane raised his head slowly, as to avoid the sharp blade that was pointed at him, and met Sweden's eyes. They adversaries stood there for a while, staring into each others eyes. Finally, Denmark lowered his own, and Sweden couldn't help but let a very small but triumphant smile sneak onto his face. Looking down. That was a sign of submission.

The Swede lightly jabbed his sword tip upward, erecting a small cut on Denmark's neck. The other Nordic was forced to look up at him again. His hands tightened into fists and he straightened, trying to appear tough, but Sweden saw past his facade and noticed his fear. It was all in those remarkable blue eyes. Instead of being lively and dancing like usual, they were now clouded with fear and defeat.

"I'm leaving, though I assume that you already know that," Sweden said in a low voice, noting the blood that was slowly coming out of Denmark's new wound and sliding in a crooked trail down his neck.

When Denmark said nothing, Sweden prodded his sword's tip a little farther into the Dane's neck. "I'm also taking Finland with me."

Denmark's eyes widened and he threw his arms out at the Sweden, trying in a pitiful and futile attempt to attack him again. Sweden calmly stabbed the Dane with the hilt of his sword, right on the deep cut that he had given him only a few minutes earlier. The Dane grunted and made a quiet gasping noise, then when Sweden hit him on the head with the blunt edge of his sword, he sunk to the ground in a flurry of curses.

Sweden glanced down at his defeated opponent. Both of Denmark's shoulders were bleeding, though the one where Sweden had stabbed him, his right shoulder, was bleeding more profusely than the other. Substantial amounts of blood were surging out of the wound on his stomach, seeping through and staining his thin white shirt. Sweden still couldn't help but find it odd that Denmark was only wearing a light layer of clothing, consisting of nothing but his shirt, which was made of a light-weight fabric, and a pair of brown trousers. No jacket, no coat, not even a cloak, hat, or scarf. Still, though. Sweden wasn't there to criticize the other Nordic's clothing choices.

Then, Sweden realized that he didn't even feel sorry for the other Nordic. They had grown up together and were both nations, and now Denmark was lying on the gritty ground of the bloodied square of Stockholm, and Sweden didn't even feel sorry for him. Denmark deserved what he was getting. He deserved the pain, the hurt, the wounds, and even the possible guilt that he was feeling. Denmark deserved it _all_.

Just as Sweden turned around, gripping his sword tightly in one hand, and started to leave, Denmark made a rasping sound from his throat, like he was trying to talk. Sweden frowned slightly and turned around to look at the Dane. The other Nordic cleared his throat and spoke again. This time, his voice wasn't so raspy, but it was unusually quiet. Unusually _pleading_.

"Please, _Sver-rige_ . . . Don't do this," Denmark said, glancing up at the Swede. He was clutching his right shoulder, the one that had gotten stabbed. The blood from the wound was slipping through his fingers, covering his hands with the sticky, red substance, but Sweden was unfazed by the facade; Denmark would show his true colors again soon, and Sweden wouldn't allow himself to be sucked back in to that.

The Swede simply shook his head and gazed down at Denmark with cold, insensitive eyes. "No, _Danmark_. You're not going to get any better. You're loud, annoying, and heartless. Always have to be in control." He paused, coming to a brief indecision as to what to say next. "I'm tired of it. When we started the Kalmar Union, we were supposed to _be united_. Not under a_ dictatorship." _ He scoffed slightly. "I'm tired of being ruled by you . . . and I know poor Finland is, so we are going to leave." He said the last part, the part about Finland, more softly. Was that even true? Well, in any case, he knew that the Finn was unhappy. So that was a good reason to take him away, too. Norway was just a little bit older and could do whatever he wanted, but Sweden didn't want to see "innocent" Finland getting hurt.

Sweden turned around and was about to saunter off again, but the Dane uttered more words that stopped him mid-stride.

"Are . . . are you going to take Norway, too?"

Did he sound . . . _scared_? _Scared_ that Sweden was going to "take" Norway along with him, too? It was strange to think about, Denmark actually being _scared_ of something. But it wasn't impossible.

"No." Sweden fingered the edge of his sword, then gripped it tightly again. "He decided to stay. I suppose to take care of Iceland, Faroe, and Greenland." He stopped for a brief moment, then continued. "I was not going to fight you for them. I didn't want to pull the children into this mess, even though I don't think you are _competent_ enough to take care of them." The scowl on his face was so large that he was sure Denmark could hear it in his voice. "Norway should take good care of them, though."

Sweden heard Denmark sigh, and he almost turned around, but after a few short seconds of indecision, he set off walking again, his boots making heavy steps against the ground. He heard Denmark call after him; the Dane called his name, but Sweden didn't turn back around.

Finally, just as Sweden was turning out of the square, Denmark shouted, "You _will_ regret this!"

Sweden allowed himself a brief glance behind him at the other Nordic, shook his head scornfully, and then strode out of the square, not regretting his decision in the slightest.

* * *

><p>Denmark had laid there for nearly an hour, shivering and bleeding on the streets of Stockholm, though it felt like longer. It felt like a whole day, maybe even a bit longer than that. Which was surprising for a semi-immortal nation, since weeks normally went by as if they were only one day, all blurred together in memory. But that had been one of the longest hours of his life - not just because of the bleeding and the fatigue that he was starting to feel, but because of the regret and <em>guilt<em> that was pulsing in his heart. Denmark had never really felt _guilt_ before in his life. Regret, _maybe_. Just a tiny, small smear of regret on his normally cheery demeanor. But even that was rare. Guilt, however, was a different feeling, and had never occurred to him before. Because of this, he spent an hour lying bleeding on the bloodied square of Stockholm, contemplating what exactly he _was_ feeling.

After what seemed like too long of a time, a familiar voice finally spoke up to break the ringing silence in Denmark's ears.

"You look like you're dying, you know."

Denmark glanced up through fuzzy eyes at the figure above him and blinked a few times, to be able to see clearer. Finally, he made the figure out to be Norway. Despite Norway's blunt and condescending tone, there was nobody that Denmark was more happy to see at that moment.

"_N-Norge_," Denmark managed to choke out, though the voice through which he spoke didn't sound like his own. It was too quiet and too shaky. Too _weak_.

Norway simply rolled his eyes. "_Min Gud_, Denmark, you are such an idiot." He paused, before kneeling down next to the defeated Nordic. "Not only did you not even put on a coat when you went out today, but you got yourself _beaten up_ and you didn't even come to get help afterwords."

Denmark tried to laugh this off, but his laugh wasn't very convincing. "Aw, come on, _Norge_, I'll be fine." He slowly sat up, and pain instantly shot through his body. The Dane grimaced and grunted, then coughed harshly. He then winced again and attempted to stand up, but fell promptly back down onto his posterior.

Norway sighed exasperatedly and grabbed on to the other Nordic's arm. Eventually, he managed to haul the larger man to his feet.

After Denmark didn't start to walk - though he would most likely _stagger_ - with Norway's help, the Norwegian grumbled, "Come on, Denmark, your legs are not going to move themselves, and I'm _definitely_ not going to carry you. You have to do some of the work yourself." Norway looked up at the Dane, his dull blue eyes instantly finding Denmark's own blue eyes. Eyes that were normally bright and lively were now dark and somber.

Norway was surprised when the Dane actually looked _away_ from him. He cast his eyes down to the ground, in a lazy, tired fashion. Norway blinked once at him, and then frowned slightly, realizing that _relevant_ thought might have been going through the Dane's head. Well, that had only taken five-hundred-years.

The Norwegian finally sighed and started to walk, forcing Denmark to take small steps next to him. The Dane leaned against him, almost too hard, but Norway ignored it and instead told him to focus on walking. The pair walked slowly out of the square and down one street in silence before Denmark spoke at long last.

"_N-Norge_ . . ." Norway was astonished to hear him stutter on his name again, or even just stutter at all. The Dane was normally so confident. "You won't . . . you won't leave me, r-right?"

Norway was yet again startled, and stopped in his tracks to look up at Denmark. He locked eyes with the Dane, and this time, the other man didn't look away. Norway contemplated the answer before he spoke it. He wasn't really sure what the right words to say were, but of course, his voice sounded just as blunt and nonchalant as it always did, so Denmark probably didn't notice in the first place.

"No, I won't."

"Is that a promise?" Denmark asked, a small fire of hope sparking in his eyes.

Norway paused again in his thoughts for a brief moment to think about the question, but then he started walking again, helping the Dane stumble back to their little house in Stockholm. He could never make a promise like that.

**I know that Sweden doesn't speak a lot, but to be honest and frank, I _hate_ when people write his voice as mumbling. I can't read it very well, so what's the point of me trying to write it? Plus, _I _personally have a head canon that he is a bit more loose with the other Nordics, since he grew up and everything. Plus, I mean, he's really angry. _Obviously_.**** I had to give him _some_ dialogue, but I hope that it still fits his personality okay. =)**

**Anyway, please review, and constructive criticism is most welcome! =) This was, after all, kind of an experiment for me, so I want to know how I did with it.**

**Oh, and also, feel free to leave any suggestions for more one-shots I could write! :-) I'm trying to write more, so suggestions might be helpful. I kind of like doing these historical events, though. And writing stuff about my favorite characters, mainly the Nordics, America, England, Canada, Greece, Russia, etc. :D So, anything about them is welcome, too, but I am still trying to stay away from a lot of romance at this point. Not because I don't have like, TONS of couples that I like, but I'm just generally not comfortable with romance. XD So I'd rather not write just romance at this point (I dunno if there are ever/will ever be hints of it in my writing, but yeah XD).**


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